


Secrets Past

by Otaku6337



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adorable Stiles Stilinski, Age Regression/De-Aging, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Derek Hale Calls Stiles Stilinski Pet Names, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Fox Stiles Stilinski, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski's Name is Genim, Stilinski Family Feels, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but there's still the fluff, kid stiles, like a year or two ago though, same with Claudia, sorry they're still dead though, sterek, the original hale pack are still dead though, they're just mentioned quite a bit for a while, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-11-28 14:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20967845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otaku6337/pseuds/Otaku6337
Summary: Stiles takes a spell for Derek. De-aged, he doesn't remember any of them... Except Derek. What is the truth behind their relationship? And why have they never said anything? And how are they going to restore Stiles to his proper age?Complete fluff-fest. Teeth may rot.





	1. Surprise, Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is de-aged and realisations are had. Enjoy! Ota - xxx

"Stiles, _**NO**!"_

  
But it was too late - Stiles had already run in front of Derek, taking the witch's spell directly. A bright flash of greens and blues blinded everyone in the clearing.

A minute later, both the witch and Stiles were gone. In her place, thin air. In his place, a wriggling pile of clothes. All the pack were calling his name. Except Derek. The alpha simply strode forwards and picked up the now-squealing bundle, leaving all bar the shirt and hoodie on the dirt floor. The pack were all shocked at what they saw - a toddler. 4, maybe 5 years old. Brown hair, brown eyes, lots of moles. Perhaps even more surprisingly, Derek was bouncing said child on his hip, cooing and smiling softly.  
"Hello little Genim, why are you here then? Hmm? What happened to you? Did the nasty witch cast a big, bad spell?"

"Derek?! What- Stiles is- You're-" Scott spluttered. Derek flushed, ears turning red. He'd completely forgotten about the pack 'til his beta spoke.

"Uh... I-"

"Der-bear! Face is prickly! And who they?" The kid giggled, running his hand on his alpha's stubble, looking at the teens around them.

"Ssh Genim. Let me talk to the others, okay?" The child nodded, pouting a little. Derek merely tutted gently, tapping him on the nose. The so-called 'Genim' smiled and giggled again.

"Stiles has been de-aged by the witch. As you can see. Now, I'm going to take him to Deaton. We can worry about the witch later. Oh, and Scott? Leave your bike. You're driving the Camaro." All the teens protested and stuttered in disbelief. Had the witch used a spell that changed their alpha's personality? He was smiling, talking, bouncing a child on his hip and letting Scott drive his precious car! Something was up, surely. And nobody had even picked up on the fact that 'Genim' knew Derek, but none of the rest of them.

The alpha didn't glare at his beta even once for driving somewhat over the speed limit in the hope of returning Stiles to normal as soon as possible. The interaction between his alpha and his best friend was disturbing. All the pack agreed. It was weird... Really weird.

"Three months?! But what about his school? There'd better be something you-" The vet cut Derek off.

"The only way to end the spell sooner would be to get the witch who cast it to remove it, but that's difficult. Firstly, you'd have to find her, then capture her. Not to mention actually getting her to disable it." Derek only growled in reply, scowl bringing his eyebrows low over his eyes.

"Grumpy Sourwolf! No snarly growly srowly stuff!" As if to reinforce his words, the child was pushing the corners of Derek's mouth up from his position in his lap.

"Srowly? Are you sure that's a word Gen?" The man was now smirking.

"It is cause I said it!"

"Really?"

"Really!" Genim nodded happily. Lydia coughed, interrupting the moment.

"Stiles?" The child didn't react to his name, choosing to play with Derek's hair instead.

"Stiles?" A few of the other teens tried as well, but he didn't turn around for any of them.

"Call him Genim," their alpha suggested.

"Genim?" asked Deaton. The toddler whipped his head around so fast he nearly toppled over. Derek, with his werewolf reflexes, caught him and, standing, swung him around in the air above his head, making the kid laugh loudly, eyes bright and happy. And suddenly Derek was laughing too. It seemed like they'd done that a thousand times.

But soon Stiles - Genim - was rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"You tired little Gen? Come here, you can sleep." It only took a few moments for the child to be snoring softly against the alpha's chest, gripping his Henley tightly. Derek rocked slowly on his feet, a fond smile softening his typically craggy features. They were so comfortable together, so natural. Like they had known each other all their lives.

"Derek. Explain please," Lydia hissed. At her words, his expression darkened again, returning to his normal self.

"Fine. At the loft." With that, he turned sharply on his heels, leaving the vet's.

Derek had laid the toddler down in his own bed, surrounding him with pillows so he couldn't flail around and roll off the bed. He'd always been a restless sleeper.

But now the alpha was surrounded by accusatory glares from his pack.

"Explain," Scott demanded. Derek sighed heavily, sat on the armchair in the middle of the room and allowed memories to take him.

\-----------------Stiles 6 months old; Derek 6 years old -------------------- (These are Derek P.O.V)----------------

I raced down the stairs. That smell! It was heavenly, intoxicating - cinnamon, sugar, lemon, ginger, apples, dewdrops... I needed to find the source. Now. It was getting stronger with every step I took and I could see my mother standing with a small family in the entrance hall. A man - the sheriff - and a pretty woman holding a baby. Skidding to a stop in front of them, I inhaled deeply. That smell! It was the baby. Not even thinking about manners or consequences, I rushed over to the child. When he saw me he giggled, reaching out. I smiled back and let him grab a hold of two of my fingers.

He was beautiful. Perfect. Soft, creamy skin; a little mop of fluffy, dark hair; moles like stars - dotted around - and the brightest, warmest honey-and-caramel brown eyes. My wolf was howling with happiness just being near him. Everything about him was perfect. I was enraptured, enchanted, in a world with only the two of us.

"Hello Genim."

\-----------------Stiles 2 years old; Derek 8 years old -------------------------------

I trotted around the garden, leading Gen as we laughed and whispered, planning a big adventure into the witch's kitchen to steal a lemonade potion to drink. He wobbled around a little on his short legs, but his energy more than made up for any initial lack of speed. Until he began to fall. A wayward stone was hidden in a longer tuft of grass, and his foot caught. In an instant I was there, stopping his downward motion before swooping him up and around above my head. We giggled loudly and he cried, 'Fly, Der! I fly!' I kept on running and spinning, trampling the fresh spring grass, holding my mate up in the air.

"Yep. You're flying Gen!"

\-----------------Stiles 3 years old; Derek 9 years old ---------------------------------

We were in my room, a wooden trainset sprawling across the floor, one end still under construction. Gen grunted and I passed him the piece he wanted. He grinned at me before slotting it into place. We didn't really need words to know what the other needed. It wasn't telepathy, but it was something close. Two more pieces of track and it was done. Our masterpiece: Over 4,000 sections of toy track, and a replica of the UK's train system apparently. Genim had made me print a map of it off so he could re-create it. I'd just passed him the pieces. 'Finish!' he exclaimed happily, and threw himself back into my lap. I laughed and hugged him close.

"All done! Good job Gen."

\-----------------Stiles 4 years old; Derek 10 years old -----------------------------------

Paper, glue and lots of different craft-stuff covered the table. It was Mother's Day on Sunday, and Genim and I were making cards together. We both had two to make: one for my mum, one for his. We spent so much time at each other's houses that they were second homes. We were mates, even if Gen didn't know yet. And we were inseparable. He was starting school in a few months and I wasn't looking forward to it. What if he fell in love with someone else? I wanted him to be happy, but I couldn't lose him. I loved him. He saw I was scowling at my thoughts and giggled, 'Grumpy Sourwolf! Be happy!' I couldn't help but smile at him. 'Love your smile Der - Love you!' I chuckled too.

"Love you too Gen."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pack stared at Derek in utter shock. He was- Stiles had been- Mates- They were-

"But- Why did he never mention you? Or recognise you?" Derek visibly flinched at Scott's words. His pain was all too obvious.

"It... It started with Mu-Claudia's death..."

"When M-Claudia died, Ge- Stiles was with her in the hospital. Holding her hand. He and I had been in the waiting room together but I fell asleep and he went to check on her. I- I wasn't there for him. And when she actually... She actually passed on, Geni- Stiles was traumatised. He couldn't - didn't want to - remember her. It hurt him too much. So he forgot. Forgot everything. All those happy moments, whether with her or not, were gone. I was gone." Derek's voice was cracked and broken, green eyes swimming with tears. It had killed him when Stiles hadn't remembered him. The alpha hadn't been able to bear being near his mate for months. And once he could, it seemed all too late. 'Stiles' had a best-friend, Scott, a class full of other kids his own age. Why would he want to be with Derek?

"Derek, I'm so sorry. I never meant to..." The man laughed bitterly at Scott's words. He had been a lonely kid, and so had Stiles, why shouldn't they have become friends? Why shouldn't he have taken Derek's place? Its not like _he'd_ been there for Stiles.  


Suddenly a wail came from upstairs.

"Mummy! Der! Daddy!" In a second, Derek was in his bedroom, holding the sobbing child to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth, murmuring comforts.

"Ssh, little Gen. I've got you. You're safe. Ssh Genim. It's alright Gen. It was just a dream. I'm right here." After a minute, the crying evened out and Stiles had calmed down. Derek nuzzled his face, making him screech and squirm,

"Der face rough! All prickly and tickly... Like daddy but not always. Daddy sometimes smooth and daddy sometimes like Der. Why? Magic? Like magic. Is fun. I think. Never try it. Have Der?"

"No Gen. I can't do magic," Derek answered gently, cutting off the ramble, "But I haven't really tried... How about we bake some chocolate cake tomorrow, hmm? That's a bit like magic, isn't it?" Genim nodded enthusiastically, hyper now he'd woken up. Apparently he'd forgotten completely about the nightmare that had roused him in the first place.

Smiling fondly, the alpha guided the kid down the stairs and over to the TV, where a shelf of DVDs were at the perfect height for him to read. Even if his speech couldn't keep up, Genim's mind was more than capable of reading and understanding all of the titles. His eyes lit up at one film, and Derek's did too. It didn't escape the pack's notice.

"This one Der! Our film, our film!" Derek simply chuckled and put the disk in before swinging the toddler around in the air and plopping them both down on the sofa. Then realised his betas were staring in amusement, confusion and something close to horror.  


"Right! Gen, let me introduce you. These are my- friends: Scott, Isaac, Jackson, Lydia, Erica and Boyd. Say hello."

"Hello ScottIsaacJacksonLydiaEricaandBoyd! I'm Genim! This is Der-bear." He blurred all the names together he was speaking so fast. Everyone chuckled when he introduced Derek. Soon, they were settled down to Beauty and the Beast. Both Derek and Genim mouthed every word, laughed at the same parts, held their breath at others. The pair were completely enthralled - both with the film and each other. They didn't register - or perhaps just ignored - the shock and downright horror of the pack. Although Derek did blush a little for the first minute.

Looking at them now, it was plain to see they were mates. They loved each other. With all their hearts, minds and souls.


	2. Red Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are felt; Genim is a ball of sunshine.

  
The pack walked into the loft to see floury footsteps everywhere, little piles of cocoa powder and Derek and Stiles sprawled out on the sofa, covered head to toe with various cake ingredients. They were fast asleep. Both snoring loudly. A delicious smell wafted from the direction of the kitchen.  
Suddenly a timer went off, shrill and piercing. Derek jumped up, catching Stiles who fell out of his lap at the movement and ran into said kitchen, the kid still in his arms. The pack could hear a "Stay back a bit Gen, it's hot." and the sounds of an oven opening and closing before a few cries of delight. The delicious smell had intensified. The cake must've been finished.

"Can we ice it Der?"

"Mm-mm. Not yet Gen. We need to let it cool first," and, after a moment,  
"Nuh-uh. Don't you pout at me Mr.Cutie-Pie... Fine then... TICKLE ATTACK!" Suddenly a variety of loud squealing, screaming and giggling noises erupted. Clearly Stiles was extremely ticklish. But he'd never been that ticklish before...

After a few minutes, the two came back into the living area, heading towards the stairs. Both red-faced from laughing. And they finally registered the presence of the pack.

"Hi again! Why you here?" The child exclaimed. Derek had turned a darker shade of red, but offered them a slightly stiff nod before saying,

"Come on Gen. Let's get washed up and changed, then we can talk and ice the cake, yeah?" Stiles'- Genim's eyes lit up, wide and sparkly. A few 'aww's came from various betas. It was pretty adorable as the kid raced over to the stairs and began clambering up them. Derek chuckled, low and quiet, before walking slowly after him, close enough to catch if need be.

Really quite shell-shocked, the pack sat themselves anywhere not sporting a light coating of flour or - possibly and - cocoa powder. This situation had showed them a completely different side to their alpha. Probably Derek's true, or maybe just original, personality. It was both saddening and disturbing really. Not to mention his relationship with Stiles. No wonder he was always so unhappy around the teen. And he had never been angry at Stiles, but at himself for not doing anything. It was heartbreaking to think about. Let alone experience.  
They sat in silence. Thinking. There wasn't much to say.

It took half an hour, but a freshly washed four-year-old and matching twenty-four-year-old chased each other down the stairs.

"Gen! If you don't give that back now you're not icing the cake!" Stiles froze. What to do?! He could keep on running... Or he could ice the cake... And he should probably give it back...

"'M sorry..." he mumbled, holding out something fluffy to the alpha. Derek sighed, but ruffled his hair as he took it back.

"S'alright. Just don't make a habit of it, yeah?"

"Yeah! Cake now?" Now they were both grinning.

"Yeah."

Just as they began towards the kitchen, they stopped, noticing their guests again. The werewolf quickly hid the fluffy object - now quite clearly a small, black wolf plushie - behind his back, coughing uncomfortably.

"Ah. Um- I- Uh..."

"Silly Der-bear! Use words. Words! Der _means_ 'hello, is everything okay?'." This triggered a few giggles around the room before Scott replied,

"Yeah. Everything's fine. We did the... rounds this morning. She's gone, but nothing else. Umm... We were gonna ask if you needed any help, but guess not..." Before Derek could say anything else, Genim interrupted,

"Who's 'she'? Why's she gone?" Despite asking the questions, the kid didn't seem overly interested in the answers. Rather, he seemed deep in thought.

"Gen..." The alpha recognised that expression, and it didn't bode well. It meant Genim had realised something important.

"Der, where's mummy and daddy?"

  
Derek froze for a moment.

"Mum and Dad are..." he choked a little over the words.

"Mum and Dad are on holiday with Ma and Pa, so we're staying together for a while. Okay?"

"On holiday with Mama and Papa?" The alpha nodded in reply.

"So us together?" Another nod, accompanied by,

"Yep. Just you and me, Gen. Just you and me." Derek managed to hide his pain at the words, at the conversation, at the lies he was telling. Or not.

"Then why Der unhappy? Not want me?" Apparently Stiles was perceptive, no matter what age. Though maybe it was just because it was Derek he was reading like an open book. Even if half the pages were missing.

"No! God no Gen! I love having you here, you know that. I just miss them." The kid seemed to ponder for a moment before grinning and throwing himself at Derek's legs. He squealed in delight as the werewolf began taking massive, exaggerated steps, walking them both slowly into the kitchen. The betas were forgotten again in favour of cake. This time however, an easy chatter started up about school as they waited for the two to return.

Half an hour of giggling later, Derek came in carrying a large tray, Stiles following behind trying to balance two small plates. All laden down with chocolate cake.

"Here. One piece each," Derek said gruffly, dumping the tray on the coffee table. Then he sat on the loveseat, took his plate from Stiles and began eating slowly. Genim did the same. Slightly surprisingly, the kid took just as long as the werewolf to eat. He normally gobbled up food at a quite frankly dangerous speed.  
Unlike those two, the teens would all try a bite before wolfing down their entire slices.

  
"Oh my God, this is amazing! Derek, you have to give me the recipe! Or tell me where you found it! Please!" This was Allison. She and Isaac were avid bakers and planned to open a bakery together in the future. As such, they had begun collecting favourite recipes and developing their own ideas. At her words, the alpha froze, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Genim answered,

"No! Der-bear, don't! It's Mummy and Mama's secret recipe. We can't tell! It's a secret!" At this his small frown morphed into an alarmingly sly smile that looked too mature for the four-year-old.

"He- He's right. Sorry Allison." The huntress was about to protest further when her best-friend nudged her in the side. With her rather sharp elbow. Fighting down a sigh, Allison left it alone. She knew Lydia would have a good reason to deny her and therefore so did Derek.

For several hours after, Stiles bounced around, on a complete cake-induced, ADHD-worsened, sugar high - throughout which Derek remained both calm and content, completely accustomed to the bouncy ball of fragile energy that was his young mate. Then, at half past three in the afternoon, the boy crashed. Over the course of about ten seconds, he went from chasing a slinky down the stairs to curled up on Derek's lap, snoring softly. With a soft - and badly hidden - smile, the werewolf once again ferried the boy to bed, getting him settled and safe before returning to his place on the loveseat. The pups were still lounging around on the two sofas and armchair, apparently waiting to talk with their alpha in private.

"So what's with Mummy, Daddy, Mama and Papa? As far as we're aware, Sti- Genim and you only have one set of parents each. Explain please." Derek barely resisted flinching at the words and how deep they cut into his heart. These last few days had been the best and the worst.

"Mum is Claudia. Dad is John. M-Ma is Talia. Pa is Tyler. We- Gen and I- We were basically together 24/7 but for school. Always at each other's houses. I called C- Claudia 'Mum' and John 'Dad'. He called Ma and Pa 'Mama' and 'Papa'. That was just the way it was- the way we were. It fit. It worked. When Mum got really ill I stopped going to school for a while on family leave or whatever. To be with her and Gen when Dad couldn't."

His words were met with silence. What was there to say? Genim and Derek only had one of four parents left. There was nothing to say to that. Genim had been effectively forced into forgetting Derek. There was nothing to say to that. The two were damaged, broken and loved each other. There was even less to say about that.

For a young child with ADHD, Genim was surprisingly calm. Well, not calm but... Less hyperactive than he normally was as a teenager. When asked, Derek simply said that Genim had always been this way 'before Mum died.' It was odd -disturbing - to think that the Stiles they all knew wasn't the the true Stiles. That there were entire days, weeks, months missing from his memory. None of them had known. Not even Scott.

Anyway, Genim was relatively settled staying with Derek. He didn't constantly twitch and fidget, didn't constantly ramble, rant and mumble. But his mind never ceased moving. And somehow the alpha kept up with it. He was the only one who could. Genim didn't seem to like Lydia - much to her shock and chagrin - and Scott was just too dumb apparently. Yes, dumber than a four-year-old. Though it _was _still Stiles, so they shouldn't have expected otherwise. And whilst Derek didn't even try to understand everything, he could make sense of enough to maintain conversations for mere moments or several hours. It depended almost entirely upon Genim. And Derek was more than willing to cater to his every want and need. Probably within reason.

As much as the two were enjoying their time together, there was still the major issue of telling John. Or so the betas thought. A texted photo and a phone call (during one of the child's naps) apparently sorted everything out. Yet again - there's a distinct pattern forming here - the teens had to force their alpha to spill.

"To begin with, Dad knows about werewolves. Including me. He also knows Genim is my mate. He and Mum always knew-"

"So how come Sti- Genim thinks that the Sheriff doesn't know?" Lydia received a full-blown scowl and death glare.

"Lost his memories of the supernatural. So Stiles doesn't know that Dad is aware of us. And Dad didn't tell him on my behalf. I asked him not to." Shocked silence met these words. Yep, definitely a pattern.

"B- but-"

"But nothing Scott. Genim forgot about me. Just because I don't hold it against him doesn't mean it doesn't fucking _hurt_." Silence again. Derek took a deep, slightly shaky, breath before continuing the original story,  
"Anyway. Dad knows about us. So I just had to say 'a witch de-aged Genim. At most, for three months' and he understood. I told him what I'd said about them, Ma and Pa, so Dad knows he can't just turn up to see him. And he said he'd sort things out with the school. Basically, everything's fine. Sorted. Gen'll just have to catch up."

Only seconds after this, a soft weeping echoed from upstairs. In an instant, Derek was there. But the sobbing didn't die down. Rather, the longer Genim cried, the worse it got.

"Hush little Genim. Come on, what's wrong buddy? Hm? I'm right here Gen. Hush."

"D-Der?"

"Mm?"

"Are there bad wolves? Ones that kill and all have red eyes like Mama and Papa but are _bad_?" Derek froze momentarily before continuing to comfort the child. Oh God, Genim'd had a dream about the alpha pack of all things. And he'd know if Derek lied to him.

"Somewhere, Gen, somewhere far, far away. Somewhere they can't get us. Can't hurt us. Can't hurt anyone. And even if they were here, you know I'd protect you. Right Gen?" Despite his too-wide eyes and mouth that twisted into a little, all-too-serious frown, the kid nodded confidently.

"Love you Der-bear."

"Love you too Gen. Love you too. Want me to stay?"

"'m okay now. Der's near, I okay. Be with others, yeah?" With a gentle smile, a hug and a light kiss on the top of his young mate's head, the alpha left. He knew Genim meant it. Because he knew Derek would protect him with everything the wolf had and more. Always and forever.


	3. Returning To Not-Quite-Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the first half.

Scott had decided that by far the most alarming thing about Genim - excluding his bewildering and terrifying relationship with Derek - was the kid's damn intelligence! More than once he had outsmarted Lydia. And he was only four years old! And somehow their alpha vaguely kept up. Well sure, there was a lot that went way over the man's head, but he could understand lots just from the way Genim would express himself. And this was just being proved again today.

Currently, the entire recycling bin had been emptied all over the main room's floor. Cardboard for the most part, though cans and tins were littered amongst it all. And what wasn't strewn around was being constructed into a massive, intricate castle. Complete with self-propellant drawbridge, moving portcullis and cannons that fired (via elastic bands) little balled-up wads of paper. It, much like his old London Underground train set, was an incredible feat of engineering.

"Der?"

"I'll get you my newspaper when I make some sandwiches. PB and J?"

"Jelly on-"

"Jelly on the top, I know." With that, Derek got up (from where he had previously been scrounging through the largest pile of rubbish in order to help) and loped off into the kitchen. Within a few minutes (he was clearly well-trained) the alpha had returned, plates in hand, newspaper tucked under his arm. He grunted, passing Genim his share before settling on the floor, back against the sofa, watching his young mate with half-lidded eyes. He ate slowly, drowsily. Not long after finishing his lunch, he slipped into a light sleep. The child giggled softly at the quiet snores before resuming his construction.

When the pack strolled in an hour later, they found a scene reminiscent of the baking day: Stiles and Derek curled up together, evidence of their recreations cast about the room. A few dozen photos later (okay, maybe closer to a hundred, but who's counting?) the teens finally deigned to wake their alpha.

"Derek? Hey, Derek! You can wake up now!"

"Wha...?" Came the sleepy mumble,

"Five more... minutes..." And with that, their alpha went straight back into dream land, apparently oblivious to his betas' aggravation.

It was only then, glancing around at each other with confusion, resignation and more than a little annoyance that the pack noticed Genim's 'little' project.

It was sturdy and colourful. Half a metre tall, with windows, turrets, cannons, buttresses - the whole kit and caboodle. A few gasps came from the teens and even Lydia looked impressed.

"You think Sti- Genim made that?"

"Well, Derek certainly didn't." That elicited several muffled chuckles. There weren't even any guilty glances for laughing at their alpha's expense, which there might have been if not for how weirded out they'd all been by this whole de-aging business. And it was amazing how similar - yet different - _their _Stiles was to the original one. To Genim.

Deciding that whatever drew them to the loft in the first place could wait, the betas left quietly.

After taking a few dozen pictures of the castle. And maybe some more of Derek and his mate.

It had been two months and twenty nine days since Stiles was de-aged by the witch. The old hag had completely disappeared and not a single trace of her had been found within several hundred miles. The pack had to give up. Deaton had never found a spell or creature that might be persuaded to turn Genim back into the Stiles they knew. At least, not one that wouldn't involve sacrifices. And none of the wolves wanted that.

But now it was finally time for Genim to turn back into Stiles. Within the next twenty-four hours anyway. And everyone was anxious.

Scott had been pacing all morning, muttering under his breath, glancing at his watch, his best-friend, his alpha, the floor and back to his watch.

Lydia was affecting an air of nonchalance, but every were in the room could smell the underlying concern she had. Her nails provided her a welcome distraction.

Derek was in front of the TV with Genim in his lap. Outwardly, there was little to no evidence of _his_ worry. Nor could anyone detect it by smell. But the four-year-old could read him easier than an open book and knew there was sadness, tension, apprehension. And so his little hands stayed on the man's much larger, rougher ones all day, offering what small comforts he could.

Right up until the moment the child began to glow.

It was subtle at first, his eyes would flash green or blue in the light. Then they stayed that way. Fluorescent. His skin too began to shine faintly, tinting the room with a watery light. The first one to notice, the alpha stood up, Genim scooped up in his arms and began to rock him slightly as he headed up the stairs. The betas understood the message: Stay down here.

Genim was far from panicking about his odd new colouring. In fact, in true Stiles fashion, he was intrigued, almost excited, and began to babble away to Derek, marvelling at this weird phenomena. Gently, the werewolf shushed him.

"You feeling okay Gen?" he asked, placing his young mate down on the middle of his bed. Some of the teen Stiles' clothes were placed in a pile at the foot of the bed. They'd probably be needed soon.

"'m fine Der. The light coo-"

His words were cut off abruptly. Derek recoiled as, at the same moment, the glow brightened. It was blinding. After a few moments he was still sat there, now staring at Genim. No - Stiles. A teenage Stiles, looking no different from three months ago. Well...

"Der-?" the boy croaked, his voice cracking. Derek visibly flinched and turned away, face burning bright red.

"Ge- Stiles. Here." He passed the pile of clothes to the bewildered teenager, still looking away. Glancing down, Stiles saw that but for a few tatters of fabric - which really amounted to nothing - he was naked. Now also blushing furiously, he began to tug on the familiar plaid shirt, Batman t-shirt and jeans. Then he realised the alpha was almost out the door.

"Der! Wait!" The man in question didn't stop, only flinched and kept on walking.

"Derek Tyler Hale - Stop right there!" At his full name, Derek paused, half-turning.

"I re- Der, I remember. From being de-aged. From before M- before Mum died. You, Ma, Pa, Laur and Cor. All of you Der. Der?" The alpha looked about to run - though whether away from or towards him, Stiles couldn't tell.

"Der, I'm so, so sorry. I left you alone. I love you and I still left you alone. I forgot you! How could I? They all- they were all gone and so was I!" And then tears were streaming down his face from the grief he never knew he felt. From regret. And even from happiness - he'd remembered and now he had the chance to put things right again. Or as right as they could be.

"Y-you remember?" came the broken whisper of a reply.

"I'm sorry Der-bear. I love you... Always have." The tears were wiped away. Lips met lips. Breaths mingled.

"I'm sorry too Gen. I- I love you."

And they smiled.

  
It had been a week since Stiles had returned to his teenage body. In that time a lot had happened:  
He and Derek had become a _thing._ They were a little awkward - particularly around other people - but they were getting comfortable and increasingly affectionate.  
Derek smiled at least five times a day, though he required a daily dose of Stiles to do so.  
Stiles became calmer. His brain still jumped around like a turbo-charged pogo-stick. But generally he was less twitchy, particularly when his boyfriend was there to hold his hands in one place.  
The Sheriff was officially part of the pack. He had been a confidante of Derek since that first time they met, but now he was fully acknowledged as pack. And he more than approved of his son's relationship. In fact, Derek had practically moved in already.  
Stiles had caught up with his coursework and was due back at school on Monday. It'd be his first day in several months without constantly being in contact with Derek. And neither of them were looking forward to it.  
There had been something of a day of mourning. That first 24 hours after turning back, Stiles was close to depressed. It took Derek nigh-on seven of those hours to convince him that he couldn't help that he hadn't been there; hadn't supported Derek and Laura; hadn't even grieved for his second family. So that first day was his chance to mourn. To apologise. He remained subdued when the subject of family came up, but his mate hadn't allowed him to fall deep into depression, so all was well.

Anyway, it was Monday morning. And Stiles did _not _want to get up. Derek had of course slept over (they had a lot of lost time to make up for after all) and John was knocking on the door-frame.

"Come on kiddos. Time to get up." Two identical groans replied. Neither wanted to oblige.

"Derek, if Stiles isn't downstairs and eating in ten minutes you lose sleeping privileges," the man warned. He knew how to get them moving

Ten minutes later, the three were tucking into pancakes, quiet with content and sleepiness. Derek broke in.

"Drive you in?" His mate nodded an affirmative. They paused eating to smile softly at each other before returning to their breakfasts. And soon they were out the door, sliding into the Camaro.

After a much-needed wake up call of car karaoke, they were pulling up in front of the school. Stiles stepped out, unfolding himself slowly and stretching. He couldn't help but notice all the attention his boyfriend's car had garnered. Grinning, he skipped around the front of the car as Derek's window went down.

"Pick me up tonight?"

"Sure." People were _really _staring now.

"Love you Der-bear!"

"Love you too Gen." And with that, Stiles snatched a quick, affectionate peck on the lips, a slightly longer Eskimo kiss and stepped back with a sigh. A few creases began to form on his brow.

"Ring me at lunch." The werewolf's four words brought his smile back, and the teen waved before heading towards the pack, who had watched the whole process with varying reactions. But none of them could resist smiling at how happy their alphas were. How in love. How complete.

Not everyone was quite so supportive though. The day was filled rude whispers; cruel, judging glares and ever-ridiculous rumours. Stiles, for his part, studiously ignored them all and the betas attempted to follow suit. They failed. Epically.

Derek's immediate reaction when hearing Stiles' voice - even over the phone during lunch - was:

"What's wrong Gen?" The teen tried to dismiss it with an airy gesture (not that it could be seen) and a quick _'Nothing, nothing Der. I'm fine, its all fine'_. The alpha didn't believe a word of it.

"Gen," he growled, a dangerous, protective edge to the sound, "I know you more than well enough to tell when you're lying. What's happened?" A deep, world-weary sigh came in response. Stiles should've known better than to try and hide it from his mate.

"L-look, I'll tell you when I get home, yeah? I don't want to talk about it here. Not with the pack here, not with the rest of the school around." And that was all it took for Derek to get an inkling of what was wrong.

"Its the kids, isn't it? Those f-"

"Der. Der, not now. Okay? Tonight." Another sigh, from the other half of the couple this time,

"Alright Gen. Whatever you want. Ju- just if you want me to come for you, I will... Anytime, yeah? Whatever you want."

The younger of the two let out a long, shaky breath, clearly collecting himself up again, his twitching hand carding his hair back away from his forehead.

"Love you Der. I really, really love you."

"I love you too Gen, more than anything."

And the grin was back again. Accompanied by the sarcasm.

"Don't chew up too many shoes before I get home!"

"I won't gorgeous."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

And they both paused for a moment, neither willing to hang up on their mate. But then it was done and Stiles was back into the unsurprisingly cruel world of high school. Thank goodness for the pack. Being part of the group prevented anyone actually gathering up the guts to insult the ADHD teen to his face. Though that didn't really save his feelings.

As soon as Stiles clambered into the Camaro, Derek sped off, heading directly for the loft. Understanding that being within even a few miles of any guilty parties would likely result in their suffering, the teen sat in fidgety silence. They'd talk at home.

"Who did what?" came the grouchy grumble as soon as they walked through the door.

"Well, nobody did anything directly... It's just me getting het up over nothing really..."

"Gen."

With that single word, that single warning, that single comfort, Derek found himself with an armful of Stiles.

"Sssh gorgeous. Sssh. They don't matter, do they? We're all that matters Gen: you, me and the pack. Its all alright gorgeous. Sssh." And eventually such reassurances calmed his young mate, neither mentioning the slightly damp patch on the 'wolf's Henley.

"Wanna invite the betas over? Your dad? Or just cuddle?"

"Dad. Cuddle. Star Wars. Pizza. All of them together."

"Those don't sound like very nice pizza toppings."

"Ha ha." The phrase was dry, cynical, but the mirth was there, hiding in Stiles' eyes. Derek resisted the urge to sigh in relief. If he had said no to cuddles then something was seriously wrong.

Within an hour, the Sheriff was sprawled in an armchair, cradling a once-cold beer, next to the largest sofa, where Stiles and Derek were wrapped up in each other and several rather unnecessary blankets. Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back was playing on the TV, quite quiet to allow for light snoozing.

Which all three people in the room had decided to indulge in. Admittedly, it had taken five pizzas between them and three hours of films, but there they were. A family. All that was left of two families, broken but together and mending. And they _were _mending. Slowly but surely they were piecing themselves and each other back into one piece. A piece that was still struggling, still suffering, but _together._


	4. New/Same Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same old problem in a new form - literally!

When Stiles walked into school the next morning, a large black 'dog' accompanied him. A '_specially trained helper-dog, that negated much of his ADHD and anxiety issues'_. That's how John pitched it to the school anyway. And they reluctantly agreed to allow the dog in, for a probationary period at least.

Derek wouldn't have cared either way. He was looking after his mate.

"Come on Sourwolf, come see everyone." The large, shaggy canine padded along with the teen, sticking close. Every student just gaped at them, some sneering, some looking scared.

"You need a mutt to protect you now spaz?" Stiles didn't even glance over at the boy, just kept bumbling along. Derek however, did pay some attention. In fact, he loped over to the kid and took their hand in his jaw, teeth around his wrist. He left no mark, but the wolfish grin he presented the bully told of unimaginable levels of hurt if deemed necessary. He returned to Stiles' side after hearing a sizeable gulp of fear. He received a pat on the head for his trouble. That meant extra cuddles later. He licked the palm affectionately, letting out a snort when his 'owner' wiped the slobber off onto his jeans, wrinkling his nose up in disgust.

"Not cool Wolfie. Not cool." Another snort was the only reply.

When the pack saw Derek they cried out in delight and surprise.

Then proceeded to take full advantage of the situation.

All the teenagers converged on the 'dog', enthusiastically cooing at him and ruffling his fur. And Derek just had to take it with as much dignity as he could muster. He couldn't even growl in case someone reported him as violent. If he wasn't allowed in, he'd still go, but it would cause Stiles and John hassle that they didn't need or deserve. So he sucked it up. The _extra_ extra cuddles that evening would be worth it. And his revenge would be very sweet. So very, very sweet. He'd make sure of it.

But before then, the pack had to make it through another day of hell. Which was both easier and harder than normal.

After a few warnings, word had spread that saying a single bad word about Stiles or his group of friends would get you a threat from a massive, black dog. That was much more intimidating than any other dog in Beacon Hills. And really did seem as though it would happily kill you.

But a few teachers were just determined to be difficult. First period the entire pack had Harris. And it didn't go well.

"What is that Stilinski?"

"It's a dog sir."

"More specifically, what is it doing in my classroom?"

"It's a 'he' sir. And I'm allowed him."

"Its allowed here?"

"Yes sir, _he_ is."

"I fail to believe you. Go to the office and get a note for it. That or don't come back. It's a laboratory, not an animal shelter. Wild, disgusting creatures."

"You would know sir. And I've already got a note saying Sourwolf is allowed to be here, thank you very much." Without so much as a curt nod, Stiles turned and went to his seat near the back, Derek hot on his heels. And butting his head against the teen's leg in pride. His mate'd handled it brilliantly. And Harris was clearly just a sour old codger, even if he wasn't all that old yet.

With Derek accompanying Stiles and the pack to school, everything had been resolved. Well, almost everything. The witch who had originally cursed Stiles was still on the loose. She had not been seen in months now, and no traces could be found. Nothing was to be done about it, though if anything, the pack would probably thank her. After all, she had brought them closer together; sorted out the alpha couple's relationship; and outed the largest secret (in theory) within their group, the secret that had messed their dynamics around.

But anyway, she had disappeared without a trace and everything had settled down to the typical monster-of-the-week scenario, though nothing overly dangerous had turned up in quite a while. And Scott, being the utterly oblivious idiot he all-too-often was, commented on the relative calmness.

Everything promptly went to hell.

It started with an odd, suspicious and somewhat familiar scent lingering around the herb section in the grocery stores. And in the Preserve. After several days of speculation and confusion, the pack finally realised just who the culprit of the peculiar scent was.

_The witch._

The awareness of this elicited an entirely new level of over-protectiveness. Derek was within three metres of Stiles 24/7 and could not be persuaded to be even a centimetre further away. Even when the teen was in the bathroom, the alpha sat outside, his back against the door. Unmoving. At first it had been endearing, sweet, amusing. But it was becoming tedious.

On the other hand, maybe it was a good idea. For all the use it was in the end.

Things between the pack and the witch finally came to a head just over a week after the hag returned.

It was, unfortunately, the full moon and that just made the situation even worse.

The pack had just begun to shift, with Derek already fully furry after a day of school, and the clearing was full of excitement, shouts and yaps. There were no clouds and the moon was calling to all of them. It was so strong that even the non-weres could faintly feel it through their respective mate bonds.

And this overwhelming euphoria was their undoing. Stiles' undoing.

As the werewolves raised their heads, eyes closed, ready to howl, a slight, subtle green glow began from some bushes at the edge of the clearing. The howl began and a shiver raced down Stiles' spine. But the chill wasn't from the pack, it was... The howl reached its peak and began to waver down again.

"DER!" The young alpha mate cried, already sprinting desperately forwards. It was funny how he never seemed to stumble or fumble when it came to protecting his pack. In particular, protecting Derek. Then again, everything about him was at least subtly different when he was around the alpha. Not to mention regaining his memories - it had toned him down a bit, he was more reserved, less snarky, less fidgety.

Anyway, just as the howl was ending, the glow intensified. The now blue-and-green shine overrode everything, becoming white in its brightness. Most of the light was focussed on Derek. Or would have been, if Stiles had not jumped in the way and taken the attack.

It was ironic really. History repeating itself. Sort of.

When the pack could once more see, they quickly realised what had happened. That damn witch again! But she was already long gone. There was only thin air and a furry lump of clothes left to show that she had ever been there.

Wait, a furry lump of clothes?

With a half-barked yell of,

"Gen!" Derek leaped forwards to kneel - now fully human and fully naked - by the pile of clothes that was once his mate. And actually still was.

A little black nose poked out of the Batman t-shirt, damp and twitching.

"G-Gen?" A beautiful vulpine head of grey, black and rust fur followed the nose, liquid midnight eyes alight with life, confusion and curiosity. A similarly coloured body followed, wriggling and twisting to escape the confines of human clothing.

To reveal a fox.

"OH MY GOD!" yelled Scott, his flabbergasted expression a mirror of what most of the pack were exhibiting.

"What now?! A- _What _is that?"

"He's a fox, Scott. Geez, I swear you're training to be a vet... Anyway, looks like he's a Kit Fox of some sort... But why try to turn me into a fox? I'm a werewolf, so...?"

"That's hardly important right now Derek. We need to get Stiles inside, where its safe - safer at any rate - and we can figure everything out once we're sure there aren't any... ill-effects."

And, as Lydia was as right as always, they did exactly that. Stiles had clambered up onto Derek's shoulders, were he was now perched, wrapped around the man's neck like a scarf. He happily chattered and chittered away, yipping and whining into his ear. _None_ of the pack took _any _photos. Or giggled like six-year-olds. Derek was_ manly _and ignored all of them in favour of lightly running his index finger over his mate's head. It was so soft and fluffy, even if it did look quite course and rough. He nearly crooned to the little animal before strictly reminding himself that this was his Genim, not some random woodland creature.

"Scott, could you ring Dad? Try not to worry him, just that could he come over as soon as possible?" The beta nodded, pulling his phone out. Leaving him to it, the alpha hurried to the sofa and asked,

"Gen, can you get down so we can check you over quick?"

The fox huffed a hot, ticklish breath in his mate's ear before slithering down onto the conveniently placed cushion. Derek could have almost sworn that he rolled his eyes at them.

"Well Gen, feel alright? Nothing hurting or anything?"

Another huff met the words, though with slightly less effect now it wasn't directly in the man's ear. But the fox obligingly shook his head in a negative motion. Then promptly began to prance around.

He jumped... hopped? on the spot, looking almost he was pouncing on something. **(A/N Just imagine one of the foxes from the 2016 John Lewis Christmas advert on a sofa rather than a trampoline, kay?) **He then proceeded to chase his own tail, trying to see the elusive furry appendage.

"Definitely fine then!" The previously chased tail was now flicked in annoyance.

"Don't look at me like that Gen! Without your wonderful sarcasm, there's a gap to be filled, so here I am."

And if a fox could look both disbelieving and aggravated whilst somewhat amused, this one managed it.

"Aww! They understand each other!" Erica squealed. Something red was beginning to drip from her nose. A nose bleed. How cliché.

"I still maintain the pair of them must be clinically insane." Lydia this time. No nose bleeds here.

"Don't say that Ly! They're adorable!" Now Allison had her say. No blood, though if they weren't careful, one might be on the way.

"Stupid teenage girls," Derek grumbled under his breath. In between sniffs, Erica slapped the back of his head. Lydia and Allison followed suit.

"Girls, hey Gen?" Derek muttered to the small creature. Stiles just flicked his ears in amusement.

  
The Sheriff arrived at Derek's fearing the worst. After all, it was a little after two in the morning. And it wasn't his son who'd called him. And so, when he saw the fox draped around his second son's shoulders he swore. Loudly.  
"But it wasn't passed on! How- She said it was only the female line! You _can't_ be a werefox!"

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, somewhat hesitantly, Derek ventured,  
"Dad? Gen isn't- It was a witch. _The _witch. The one who turned him into a kid again."  
Then he added, "What did you mean, werefox? Do those even still exist? M- Ma said they died out years ago..."  
"I... Look, it doesn't matter right now. What do we know? Is it the same as last time? Or different? Can you even understand us Stiles?"  
At the words, Stiles gekkered, sounding decidedly affronted.  
"Of course he can!" translated Derek, tone similarly indignant in his mate's place. John huffed out a breath that was all too amused to be truly annoyed.  
"Alright, alright! So, do we know anything?"

"Not really," Lydia jumped in. Derek and Stiles had begun bickering good-naturedly, though how or why, nobody could guess. So they just ignored the gekkering and flailing limbs. Derek was clearly taking on Stiles' mantle. Well, judging by the somewhat wild gestures he was making. Stiles could only really use his tail and ears.

  
"We were going to ask Deaton about it later. Scott said he's probably still in surgery. Some cat or something similarly irrelevant. But so far, nothing seems to be wrong with Stiles. Other than the obvious that is."

"I'd better call the school later then," the Sheriff sighed. Immediately, the debate froze and his son jumped from his mate's shoulders to his dad's. Once there, he whimpered and yipped whilst curling himself tightly around John's neck.  
The man just sent a helpless, apologetic and slightly pleading look at Derek. Catching this, Stiles sent a similar glance in the same direction.  
"He's saying sorry and not to worry. He can stay with me and we'll do his coursework together. And yes, that's fine with me. His writing's basically a carbon copy of mine anyway."

The pack looked shocked - almost horrified - by this and Stiles tittered at them. It sounded like a cross between an owl and a strangled cat. Apparently he had found it funny.  
"I taught him to write and his handwriting just got more and more like mine as we grew up." The werewolf carefully didn't mention the years the two spent apart, yet everyone heard the pride in the unspoken, _'despite not being with each other'._

  
"When exactly did he start learning?"  
"Reading, about two. Writing, about three. He could barely hold a pencil right, but he was determined to learn, so..."  
In protest to the various cooing and 'aww' reactions, Stiles leapt from his father to his mate, digging his claws in deeper than necessary and nipping at the ear conveniently by his head.  
"Ow Gen! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, okay? You can let go of my ear now!"  
With a final lick, the fox released his ear, but remained on his shoulders. With a wide yawn that exposed gleaming, needle-like teeth, he settled down comfortably and allowed his eyes to close, covering up the beautiful darkness that only hours earlier had been the colour of whiskey.

"Derek, son?" The werewolf looked up from his mate to the man he viewed as a second father.

"Is it really alright for him to stay here with you? Why don't you both come back to ours? It might be a bit easier. And you know you can stay as long as you want or need."

"I- Thanks Dad." The younger smiled. Just for a moment, his tough-guy alpha exterior cracked and a little, brief ray of sunshine peeked through. Just as soon as it came, it was gone.

But it had been there. And maybe there'd be more sunshine to come.


	5. Not A Lot Of Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is a fox and everything's a mess again.

It had been a week since Stiles had been turned into a fox by the witch.

And, considering, everything was going quite nicely.

In regards to school, everything was fine there. Scott or Lydia would bring assignments to the Stilinski household, and the alpha couple would complete them together. As long as it wasn't an essay anyway. But those weren't necessary - John had somehow wangled the school into not giving them with some excuse of _'not being able to write or type for extended periods of time'_. Well, it worked and Stiles could easily answer short questions or multiple choices when Derek wrote it all out for him. Amusingly, their writing really _was _ the same.

And in regards to the witch, things were progressing well. This time it seemed, she had yet to flee. For now, she had concealed herself somewhere deep in the Preserve. Which, whilst aggravating, at least gave them time to formulate a plan. Which was going... badly? Well, without Stiles' full input (read: Stiles' coming up with the entirety of the scheme and ensuring every aspect would work for the pack's advantage, even if it didn't go right) it was flailing a little, but with Derek's comments (straight from the fox's mouth) and Lydia's bases, it was getting there.

But what nobody quite forgot about was the Sheriff's comment on a 'werefox'. None of the betas mentioned it though. It didn't seem to be their place. And they trusted Derek to get it sorted.

To do so, he and Stiles talked.

"Gen..." It was early in the morning. The vulpine form of the luna was curled up on his werewolf's chest, enjoying the soft rumbling of his breaths. An eye flickered open.

"Do you think that the 'she' Dad mentioned was Mum?" Ears flicked forward and tail danced briefly in question.

"The werefox thing. Was 'she' Mum?" A little huffy breath and a lazily stretched paw.

"_Probably? _ That's all you've got to say?" Only delicate little whiskers fidgeted this time.

"No, I couldn't tell. She always smelt a little different, but not... Though I'd never officially met a fox, so I probably wouldn't really have been able to tell either way." Stiles rolled his eyes, seeming somewhat exasperated.

"Yes, yes okay. Well, at least you agree with me."

There was a break in the conversation. Neither wanted to think upon the implications of what they'd just discussed, but they could do nothing else. It was stuck in their brains. Their mother - one of the two anyway - had been a werefox. A supernatural creature. Another one. Well, it explained why she and the sheriff had turned up at the Hale house. They would have to have asked permission to live on Pack Territory. And then the two boys had been mates and how could the little family have possibly been turned away?

A distressed whine came from the fox. It was a plaintive keen and the alpha gently began to stroke his back. Trying to comfort him.

"I don't know how she got ill gorgeous. Maybe she was... There was some sort of plant poisonous to foxes? Or a cruel fated twist? I don't know Gen, I don't know..." The younger's cries became more pronounced and Derek shifted sideways, curling up around his lover. Neither commented on the tears that escaped the man or that would have escaped Stiles too, had they been able to. Instead, he allowed a howl - shrill and piercing - to claw its way out of his throat.

The two fell asleep that way. Curled up together, as close as physically possible.

The other's presence gave them comfort, safety and a little sliver of happiness in the melancholy of family lost.

They needed that comfort.

  
The next day was a subdued affair. Nobody commented on the red and black rims around their alpha's eyes, or the slightly despondent stillness of his mate.  
It was likely to do with their families. And, whilst their current pack _was _a family, the two were very different in many ways. So very different. Something obvious to even the most oblivious (*cough* _Scott_ *cough*) of the teens; something that they were remarkably aware of.

"So what are you gonna do today?" Scott asked, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

"I don't really kn..." Derek trailed off, gaze focused on Stiles who had suddenly sat up in his lap. And begun paddling his paws. And whining softly. It took a few moments, but an odd expression of both doubt and gratitude stole over the werewolf's face.

"You sure Gen?" At a nodded reply, Derek chucked the fox gently under the chin and finally replied to his beta.

"We're going for a run."

Having endured the startled sputtering of Isaac - 'but Stiles doesn't _run!' _which was promptly replied with by such a violent tail flick on his direction, it could only have been equivalent to Stiles flipping him off - the couple ushered the betas from the loft. They had a school to attend after all. And Derek wouldn't forgive them if they failed to pick up any of Stiles' work, no matter how insignificant.

Following a small breakfast of bacon for the vulpine boy and a few BLT sandwiches for the alpha, the two headed out for the Preserve. A good, long, cross-country run sounded like the perfect distraction really.  
They weren't wrong.

Both Derek and Stiles set off at a comfortable lope. The foxes strides were shorter, but he was more fluid, faster, sure-footed. In comparison, even the werewolf was a bit clumsy. The younger enjoyed that fact. Too much really.

"Oh stop gloating Gen." Came as the fox once more twisted perfectly through a nasty snarl of brambles and roots, shooting a challenging glance over his furry shoulder. Stiles just chittered in amusement as his mate had to circumnavigate the tangle. The older man groaned, but it was good-natured. Seeing his most precious loved one enjoying himself was too heart-warming. Particularly now they were actually in an acknowledged relationship. It was enough to crack his stony features into a bright grin as he put on a turn of supernatural speed; all thoughts of dead relatives temporarily banished.

"I've done some research into Kit Foxes today. You're rather odd you know Stiles." This was the declaration made within a moment of the strawberry blonde banshee entering the loft that afternoon. The alpha couple had only been back for a few hours - having eaten lunch in the Preserve (read: _Derek jogging to the nearest convenience store whilst Stiles occupied himself with investigating a little more of the Preserve_) and, in total, running for nigh-on five hours beforehand.

"Thanks Lydia. He really appreciated that," snarked the werewolf in response, as little claws dug into his shoulders and an angry fox gekkered away next to his ear.

Lydia only hummed, before continuing on regardless:

"Kit foxes are, for a start, nocturnal. Stiles clearly isn't. Typically, they would have more silver pelts this time of year, not that much black, if any, but for on their tails. They're supposed to live in desert-like regions - which Beacon Hills clearly isn't. You, Stiles Stilinski, are a most baffling vulpine specimen." She ended her short speech with an almost accusatory glare at him.

And received enraged howling, barking, fang gnashing and tail whipping in response.

"Gen - Calm down!" It took several more, softer, reassurances over several minutes, but the fox stopped spitting vulpine insults (that Derek appeared to understand the majority of, judging by his occasional flinch - although the claws undoubtedly digging painfully into his shoulders probably caused a few of them).

"Look, Gen, gorgeous, can I- Do you think-"  


A moment of silence hung, pregnant, in the air of the loft. Not one of the betas dared speak. Not even Lydia - she'd caused the ballistic flip either way, which alone had quietened her. Finally - that one or two seconds seemed an age to the teens - a tacit understanding seemed to pass between Stiles and Derek.  


"We- We think - well, we know - that Mum - Stiles' that is - was a werefox. We're fairly sure anyway."  


Silence reigned again. Everyone just stared at their alpha couple with a kind of horrified shock. Stiles' Mum had been a supernatural?!

"Then... are _you _one too?" The question was directed at the fox, but the werewolf was the one who answered.

"No! Gen isn't- Or at least, he doesn't seem to be. He doesn't smell the way Mum did, so... "

"O- Okay..."  


For the third time, nobody said anything. This time, it was more awkward, uncertain and - primarily - contemplative. Stiles trembled violently, virtually spasming with the force of them. And, despite the comforting fingers that he ran over his young mate's fur, the alpha too shook a little. The realisation about one of their closest family members had clearly disturbed them to the core.  


"Wait... I thought she... d-died from an illness? So how-"

Derek contained his reaction to a blanch and clenched fists. But Stiles was gone, haring up the stairs, bushy tail the last of him the pack saw.

"Gen!" He spun to race after his mate but a hand on his arm paused him.

"Wait! Dere-!"

"Don't you think you've done enough damage? You're lucky I don't rip your throat out... With my teeth," the alpha hissed, eyes molten, fiery red. All the teens cringed away. Derek hadn't been this angry in a long while. And it was beyond terrifying.

Having taken the stairs three at a time, the man entered their bedroom to an admittedly amusing situation.  
When at home, Derek had long since been comfortable to forego his leather jacket. Hence it being on his bed for a certain fox to get stuck in. Which he had apparently succeeded at, judging by the oddly-shaped bulge of whimpering, gekkering and thrashing in an arm sleeve.

"Oh Gen... How did you manage that?" Frankly, it was a testament to how upset the pair were that neither could laugh. Or even take a commemorative picture. Which, under normal circumstances, would _not_ have been posted on any social media. Definitely not.

"Let's get you out then."

It took nearly fifteen minutes of writhing and gently easing heavy fabric and fingers around delicate ears and light bones, but soon enough a werewolf was curled up tight on his bed. Within the warm protection of his limbs was a teenage fox, curled up impossibly tighter than his counterpart. Occasional keens of misery escaped their entangled ball. Whether from the human or vulpine form, it was unclear. To be honest, they were so deep in comforting each other and their own pains that it didn't matter. They were a mass of torn-open wounds and half-healed hurts.

But they _were_ half-healed. So, maybe, just maybe, together, they were healed.  
  


None of the pack but John - well, he did live there - dared venture to the Stilinski household in the next few days. Even concerned, oblivious Scott stayed away. Seeing the old anger and bitterness in Derek had shaken them all to the core. And knowing they were a big part of that reaction hurt them. But what they truly worried over was Stiles' reaction. His flight. His outburst prior to said flight. Being a fox was clearly difficult for him in the first place - thank you _so much_ Nogitsune - no matter how well he had internalised that, but adding on to that the apparently-traumatising truths about his Mum, and... well... It obviously hadn't gone brilliantly, to say the least.

Eventually, Scott and Isaac were the first to venture as far as the front door. With a little hesitance, Scott knocked. It was unnecessary, he knew, but the two figured they should at least try to start off on the right foot.

"Derek? Stiles? Can we come in please?"

After a moment, the door was pulled half-open, through it the already-retreating back of Derek, a furry form draped over his shoulders, was visible. The man was heading into the sitting room.

"Uh... thanks..." And with that, the two stepped in, still rather nervous. It was hard not to be apprehensive, when their alpha had not said a word and their vulpine luna hadn't made a sound either. Hadn't even bothered to look at them. It was highly unnerving. And kind of deserved. Kind of.

"We wanted to know if- if you two were okay. The Sheriff hasn't said much to us and we've all been worried. I mean, we don't - can't - really understand. But we-"

"Enough. We get it."

"O-oh."

"Thanks for letting us... calm down. If you think you can all restrain yourselves from anything too... probing or offensive, then you should be safe enough coming round after school tomorrow." The threat was surprisingly subtle for the werewolf, but just about clear enough for the teens. Receiving a shrug-like gesture of agreement from Stiles - who was still much too quiet and still for the ADHD spastic they knew - Scott opened his mouth to apologise, maybe, or say thanks, but Isaac cut his off. Wisely.

"We'll see you two tomorrow then. We'll bring pizza for everyone."

Receiving only a curt nod, they left. Once out of hearing range, four simultaneous sighs of relief came from the involved parties. Well, it could have gone quite a bit _worse._ Actually, if discounting the frigid stiffness of the stilted conversation, it went rather well, all things told. Remarkably so. Because, really? Scott and Isaac had fully expected to get their heads bitten off. Perhaps not figuratively.

So, success.

"How did it go?"

"We're still in one piece, aren't we?"

"Yes, well done. How did it go?" Several other betas rolled their eyes at Lydia's single-mindedness.

"Fine. We're all going over - with pizza - tomorrow. _If _ we think we can 'restrain ourselves from anything too probing or offensive'."

"Hmm. Better than expected really."

"Yeah, but Lydia..."

"Yes?"

"Stiles didn't seem right. He was all still and silent and cold and- and not-Stiles. Derek was kinda his old self, but Stiles..." This just caused concerned silence to fall.

"It's probably just all the emotional strain. Not to mention the likely chemical imbalance from being turned into a fox in the first place. He hasn't really been quite right since, has he?"

"No, but this was worse. He moved, like, once. And didn't make a single sound!"

"Why don't we just ask tomorrow, if he still isn't right? Maybe Derek will already know why."

Despite not seeming happy about the arrangement, Scott just shrugged and muttered a confirmation. He felt like something more was going on, but...

Either way, they'd find out tomorrow.


	6. Out And Free (But Not So Safe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter!

Fifteen pizza boxes were piled up on the coffee table in the Stilinski sitting room. On John's armchair lounged Derek, his relaxed posture attempting to belie his tension. This was their pack, but it was strained, unsettled.

Because their luna wasn't okay. Really not okay.

It was all too clear now that Stiles was suffering from more than emotional instability. He had wedged himself between his mate's leg and the arm of their seat. Apart from a short, slightly harsh, bark of greeting, he had been silent. And, but for a constant flicking of his tail-tip and shallow, too-fast breathing, he was deathly still.

Almost as though respecting his reticence, the betas too were quiet, chattering about schoolwork and other creatures of the night.

They all turned their attention to their alpha couple when Derek began,

"Sti? Want some hawaiian?" Dark lips pulled back, revealing needle teeth. Negative.

"Something else then? Meat feast? Spicy?" The negative remained.

"Not even some curly fries?" Still negative. Now the entire pack was frozen, watching with something close to horror.

Stiles was further from okay than they'd thought. And that alone was bringing them together again.

"What _do_ you want then?" The fox only huffed a long, low, resigned breath, eyes closing tiredly.

"Gen?" Derek shifted away from him slightly, trying to see his mate better. As soon as he moved even a centimetre, Stiles twisted his head and snapped at him irratibly, a growl trembling through the small body. After a moment of shocked nothing, a keening - of apology, of shock, of pain - started up, replacing the snarling, and the fox twisted desperately, doubling back on himself, head burying into his tail and the side of Derek's thigh. He was curled in such an unnatural position that the more fanciful wolves could almost hear his spine and ribs creaking in pained discomfort. Or maybe they weren't actually just imagining that.

"G-Gen, are you alright?" But he didn't reply, only endeavouring to force himself further into the shadowed gap, and closer to his mate.

"Gen, please..." The whining continued unabated, only becoming more remorseful by the moment.

"Its fine, gorgeous its fine. Its okay, you didn't hurt me. Didn't even come close. Its fine. Ssh gorgeous, ssh. Its fine." Eventually his younger mate untucked himself and dared to glance hesitantly up. His eyes were dull, yet glazed, saddened and confused and unsure and perhaps a little frightened.

"I know you didn't mean it, Gen, its fine." Before either could do any more, Lydia interrupted.

  
"Do you feel okay Stiles? Physically I mean?" The teen whimpered more.

"No, he's... detached? Blurred? Kind of... fuzzy-headed? He- I can't really explain it any better. Just... not right. Addled."

"Do you think something's causing it? A type of wolfsbane or a side-effect to the spell? It seems rather likely, don't you think?"

"I- We'll talk about it in a minute."

With the dismissal, Derek stood up, gestured for his betas to stay before scooping his now quiet boyfriend up and trudging up the stairs. Not a minute later he returned, threw himself back down into the armchair and waved a hand at Lydia for her to start again.

"Do you think that Stiles is... not himself because of a poison or side-effect? Admittedly, more probably the former. After all, the de-aging had little effects - if any - beyond the intended. And, if it is a harmful substance of some kind - perhaps related to wolfsbane - then that would explain a lot," she seemed to pause, harden her resolve and gather her nerve before going on,

"Particularly if it was the same substance that caused his mum's death."

Hazel-grey eyes flared a dangerous red as Derek surged to his feet, hands trembling and teeth bared. The betas froze, unsure whether speaking would make it worse or better. They decided not to risk it.

After a few minutes of motionless and heavy breathing, the crimson disappeared once more, the more-green-than-not shade that Stiles so loved returning to the alpha's eyes.

"Go on," he growled. The armchair had been shoved backwards a pace by his violent rise and he veritably stumbled back onto it.

"Well, isn't it possible that a plant - well, a pollen technically - could be causing this? I'm not overly familiar with the symptoms of frontotemporal dementia, but I do believe what Stiles just exhibited aren't unlike those his- your mum did."

And that seemed to push Derek if not to the edge, then right over it.

**_"OUT!"_** The teens - through all their clear hesitance and worry - tumbled away, out the front door, finally halting once out of hearing range. They all pretended they hadn't heard the beginning of soft, mournful sobbing or seen the beginning of glossy tears blurring his vision. That they hadn't witnessed any of his grief. Because he was their alpha, and if they couldn't at least give him the pretence of his tough-guy persona being intact right now, what could they do?

Well, one more thing.

"I'm researching tonight, if anyone has any particularly good horticultural books, then please drop them off sooner rather than later."

"Hortadultural?"

"No Scott, hort_icult_ural. Plants, flora, etc."

"Oh." Lydia just flicked her strawberry-blonde locks over one shoulder and strutted back to her car. With a round of sighs and near-wistful glances back at the house they'd just vacated, the other teens followed her to their own transport. That hadn't gone well at all. Not in the slightest. Then again, nobody was bleeding. So perhaps a bit better.

"Gen? Are you feeling alright now?" Liquid midnight eyes stared morosely up at the alpha. A near-silent whine escaped the fox.

"Oh gorgeous..." Derek scooped up his younger mate in his warm, strong arms and settled into bed, pulling the Batman covers carefully over them. Wrapped up in the comforting cocoon, the teen eventually stopped trembling and settled with a sigh. His breath smelt of bacon.

"Ew Gen, ew. Bacon breath is not nice." They both snorted a little at that.

"I- Lydia might have a point. I don't like it, but she might. And it would... explain a lot." A meaningful twitch of his tail and swivelling of his ears was the luna's only answer.

"But... Do you think- Don't you think..." Another sorrowful sound escaped the younger.

"Yeah... It would give a reason for you acting so uncharacteristically." An almost amused flick of a tail.

"Yes, that's a word! Anyway, you can't deny it makes sense." A vague movement of the head.

"I don't like it much either, of course I don't." A gnash of the teeth accompanied a light growl.

"At least we know it wasn't hereditary. Only a plant or something." A shrug-like gesture. Stiles went on to yawn only a moment later. Derek quickly followed, the two giggling a bit as they 'caught' the yawns off of each other. It made a welcome distraction. And a clear indicator.

"Let's sleep, yeh gorgeous?" And with that the two snuggled down even further. The alpha's hands lay gently, comfortingly over his mate, the latter's tail curled almost possessively over his wrist. As seemed so constant nowadays, they drew warmth and what happiness they could from each other.

No matter what, they had each other and their love.

And they didn't need anything else.

It took another week of seeing neither hide nor hair of the witch before the Stilinski house was once more graced with the presence of all the Hale betas. For once, there was no joking or teasing or fights. After all, this was important. Like, life-and-death important. Or, more accurately, sanity-and-insanity important. To be even more specific: Stiles' sanity or insanity.

And they arrived to carnage. Utter carnage.

"Gen! Please, its me! Gen, gorgeous, Gen, please!" At the clear panic - so rarely- heard in Derek's voice, the teens careened through the front door straight into the kitchen, bypassing formalities in concern for their pack-mates.

And found the man pleading with a shadowed corner. _Ah._ A growling, spitting, writhing shadow. Their alpha had one hand outstretched in plea, in supplication, in hopelessness. They could see - and chose to ignore - the clear trembling.

"Gen, come on gorgeous! Gen, its me, please Gen!" But the fox didn't top hissing and scratching. Finally, with a somehow saddened growl, Derek reached out and grabbed the scruff of his neck, tugging him carefully but powerfully to his broad chest, immediately clutching him there tightly, ignoring the whimpers of fear and anger and pain. And how his hands, arms and torso were now decorated with shallow lacerations. Well, trying to ignore them, but they _hurt_.

"I'm sorry Gen, so sorry, I know it hurts, I know, but its okay, I'm sorry, you'll be fine..." After several minutes, the younger finally calmed, exhausted, and slumped, asleep, in his mate's arms. Finally Derek came out of their little bubble.

"Oh! You're here."

"Yes, umm... what was that about?"

Derek sighed. Ran a hand through his hair in a very un-Derek but very-Stiles-like manner. Sighed again.

"A symptom of fronto- frontotemporal dementia. Technically, a few: being confused, lashing out at loved ones, general anger." Several horrified gasps echoed. They'd suspected, yes. Theorised, yes. But to see the full truth, the full, terrifying truth was something else. And for this to be the second time their alpha couple had lived through this was even worse.

"So we were actually right?"

"Yes - Yes you were! And I- I don't know what to do!" In a second the rage Derek had stank off transformed, faded, twisted into despair and desperation.

"Well, keeping Stiles away from the Preserve would be a good start, as that's most likely where the flowers are."

"So you know what plant it is now?" There was a hint of heart-breaking hope in the man's eyes as he looked from the teen in his arms to the teens still crowded by the doorway.

"Yes. I believe so."

"And?"

"Aquilegia Vulgaris - better known as Columbine, or a type of. Part of the Ranunculaceae family and therefore related to Wolfsbane. A sort of 'Foxbane' if you will."

"So let's get rid of it."

"We'll have to get Deaton involved Scott. This is a plant, it'll be everywhere. And we get traces on ourselves, that could aggravate Stiles' symptoms."

"Then let's go!"

By the next morning, a ritual was set up for the summer solstice - a week yet, but it was the closest powerful ritual date. It was closer than the full moon even. Well, it was to be two rituals actually. An expelling spell to rid the Preserve of the Columbine plant. Then a purification for Stiles himself, to get rid of the pollen and hopefully the frontotemporal dementia symptoms with it.

Now they just had to look after him until then.

  
It had only been two days since organising the purification spells. Five days until the rituals themselves. And trouble was brewing.

It started with, typically, a new, suspicious scent at the edge of Beacon Hills. It was gunpowder and oil and columbine and silver and death. It was hunters. And they seemed to be after Stiles. The pack sent Chris and Allison to confront them in regards to their intentions. But they claimed to only be passing through on their way to Mexico. But, really, their 'discreet' inquiries to any werefoxes having been in town within the last decade was a dead giveaway, as though their scent wasn't already.

So yeah, hunters. In town. After Stiles.

Derek was on high alert 24/7. Although his young mate demanded so much of his attention there was little point to it. Because despite a sort of filtration spell Deaton had cast around the Stilinski house, it was far from absolute and anybody entering or leaving brought traces of columbine with them and with it further bouts of mental instability. Mental instability that left him frozen still, mind and body unnaturally quiet. Or left him spitting and hissing and snapping at shadows of imagined threats.

And left the alpha more heartbroken by the day.

Yes, they now knew the cause, knew that the vulpine teen didn't actually have frontotemporal dementia, but to have him behaving in such a way was near-enough traumatic. Well, okay, it _was_ traumatic, but that's besides the point.

The point is that there were hunters. And that meant the pack had to protect Stiles at all costs. 'Cause he was vulnerable right now. And they'd be damned if they willingly let anything happen to their luna. Not now, not ever.

But whoever said that circumtances would allow them to follow through on those intentions? Whoever said that between hunters, a witch and Stiles himself, there wouldn't be some major trouble before the week was out?

Nobody. And even if they had, it would have happened anyway. Because, really, Beacon Hills anyone? Swimming in the supernatural, death and mystery.

Anyway, the pack had just arrived with plans of eating dinner with their alpha couple. Maybe watching a movie or two. But it was a Bad Day. In other words, Stiles was unmoving but for darting, wary, angry, eyes that flashed constantly from person to person. Never settling. Never calming. His heartrate was wild. Racing.

Determined as always to do what he could, Derek was holding the fox to his side, touch light. The last thing they needed was Stiles flying into hysterics of any sort.

But when Erica and Isaac were in the kitchen getting a round of drinks, the young woman dropped a glass. As it slipped from her hand she cursed loudly. The sudden violent noises had Stiles on his feet, holding himself still with apparent difficulty.

"Hey, its okay Gen, Erica just dropped a glass. That's all, its okay." It did no good. The fox's gaze focussed on an empty corner of the room. And stayed there, fixated. His ears swivelled as though picking up a noise that nobody else could hear. Or maybe a voice.

And in a split-second he was gone. Just a streak of rust and shadows, a whiff of intense fear, and he was gone.

"Genim! Genim, Gen!" Derek was already scrambling to his feet, to the back door. Why on earth hadn't he closed the window?! God, he was so stupid!

"Genim!"

But he had fled, already disappeared into the twilight darkness of the Preserve. The wolves could only race after him.

There were hunters, a witch and the pack after Stiles. It was inevitable someone would find him. The only question was who would catch him first.


	7. Safe At Last - Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is in sight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is finally finished - hope you guys enjoyed! Thank you so much to those of you who've been commenting - I've already said it, but I really do appreciate your support! And thank you all, fullstop, for reading.  
Love and hugs, Ota. Xxx

_The fox darted through the green, brown, blue, green, brown. It was all a blurry smear of confusion. There was panic and leaves and poison and ground and metal and-_

The pack tore through the Preserve, following Stiles' scent. It was heady with panic and confusion with an underlying sickness to it. But that same disorientation weakened, dispersed, the smell, resulting in following it becoming a slower, more arduous process. And the wolves were desperate. The Preserve was far from safe. Particularly when their pack mom was so ill. He was a danger to enemies yes, but also himself. And that scared them near-witless.

It was a race against time to reach Stiles. And they were determined not to lose it.

_There was pain. Startling pain. Even through the weird disconnection, weird fuzziness in his head, Stiles could tell there was pain. And blood. Lots and lots of red meant lots an lots of blood, right? And there was lots and lots and lots of red. Although it looked kinda grey now. Ooh- everything was a pretty grey-silver! How swee- **Darkness.**_

The witch would've cackled if it didn't mean those pesky pups being instantly alerted to her presence. And, of course, with that, the location of her prey. After all, she was getting close now. Perhaps only a hundred metres away. At most, two hundred. In a moment she would be able to- _Ah_, there he was. What a delicious, delightful little creature he made. And wouldn't Leigha have her fun soon? Oh yes, she would. Soon, so soon. Such sweet revenge. Such sweet, sweet revenge. She licked her lips in anticipation. The witch could hardly wait.

The fox was already slumped to the ground, breathing harsh and uneven, eyes darting under their lids. Blood oozed, thick and constant, from his right back-leg. The cruel angle suggested the bone was broken quite badly. How a fox had managed to trigger a bear trap she would- Oh. It was one of the hunters' traps. And this time the witch couldn't hold back a quiet, though no less maniacal because of it, giggle. How _delightful!_

Dropping into a low crouch, bare heels against her robe-clad rear, the woman carefully extracted the small vulpine body from the brutish metal teeth. He began to bleed more profusely. Whoops. Well, as long as he didn't die before he served his purpose, she had no complaints.

_His eyes wouldn't focus. The darkness was blurry and pain-filled. There was a vague throbbing from his back leg. His head was full of thick, choking smog. What... had happened? He could only remember an oddly menacing giggle. The witch? The witch had him... Oh God, where was Derek? His dad? Scott? Lydia? His pack? His friends? His **family**?_

_They were coming. Surely they were coming. _ _He'd just have to wait._

_And he slipped, slid, stumbled, back into the welcoming arms of tar-and-midnight slumber._

The pack had frozen. Stiles' scent trail had ended. At a bloody trap, tufts of back and russet fur still caught on its spikes. A stale, mouldy herb smell pervaded the area, coming and leaving. Via the trap.

The witch had Stiles.

They had tracked the witch to an old, seemingly dilapidated cottage - more of a hut really, but I'm feeling generous - within a few hours. The scent, whilst somewhat indistinct with her magic and Stiles' lingering confusion, was easily clear enough to trail. The woman had made no particular effort to mask her presence. It was obviously a trap.  
  


They went anyway of course.  
  


Derek went in first, cautiously nudging the unlocked front door open with the toe of his boot before basically tip-toeing through the wide, crooked door frame.

"All clear," he muttered, knowing his betas could hear him. As they followed him, he crept into the room, taking in his surroundings.  
  


It was a rather barren, one-room affair. Old cabinets, rotting and mouldy, lined half the room. Various herbs - some in jars, others in simple bundles - hung from the ceiling and sat on the sides. A scratched but relatively sturdy-looking table stood in the centre of the room. There were no chairs.

In the far corner, a rug had been shifted out of place to reveal an open trapdoor. The smells of blood and magic emanated from the darkness. Derek immediately headed over to it.

Most of all, the scent of Stiles, mate, pack, love, _Stiles,_ was overwhelming.

And so he jumped straight down.  
  


Even as he landed, nearly three metres below his starting point, the alpha was moving forward, heading towards the ever-strengthening scent of his mate. Without hesitation his betas were following him. Down a straight, earth-walled corridor. Towards a shakily installed wooden door, set in a roughly hewn frame. Derek pulled it out of that frame, his movements sudden and violent. The witch was doubtlessly already aware of their presence.  
  


"Welcome to my humble abode!" The pack could just mentally hear Stiles' non-existent reply: _Oh wow lady, way to be cliché. Not to mention lame. I mean, really? Humble abode? Try hovel. At best. _

But there was the much more pressing matter of Stiles. Who may or may not currently be unconscious, bleeding sluggishly, and trapped under a glowing, sickly yellow dome.  
  


"Let him go!" Derek growled, eyes long since flashing red. His claws and fangs had been present from before even entering the building.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so sweetie. You see, this little dome currently runs on my powers. But if anything much larger than a fly comes into contact with it..." Her sing-song words dissolved into maniacal cackling. Bent double with the force of her own mirth, the witch visibly pulled herself together.  
"Oh, then, then, then-" another outburst of giggles, "then it'll be your precious one fuelling his prison! His life force, his soul, his energy. His everything sweetie. _Everything._"  
The witch collapsed into cruel laughter once more. The wolves could only growl.  
  


"Get rid of it. Before we kill you."

"Oh no, poor, poor sweetie doesn't understand. What if little old me were to die? Can you, will you, should you, will you, can you take that risk?"

"Shut up! Get rid of it!"

But the witch only cackled again, the glint of hatred in her eyes held firm by insanity.  
"No."

Derek roared, promising feral violence, blood, bones, death, but he could not move. His roar shook earth loose from the ceiling above them, set the ground trembling, but he himself could not move. What if his actions killed his mate? He couldn't-

A single gunshot echoed out.

The witch fell.

_ **15 minutes before:** _

John was patrolling when he caught sight of several figures running through the Preserve. The Pack. But they were meant to be at his house with Derek and Stiles. Unless-

Barely registering his own actions, the sheriff left his car, racing after the alpha and betas. They might have been struggling to follow his son's scent (not that he knew that) but they still moved damned fast. How on earth Lydia and Allison kept up he had no idea. But they could only be racing after his son, so he pushed himself to run ever-faster.

** _13 minutes later; 2 minutes before:_ **

John hurried into the hut after the Pack. Just as he reached the trap door, he could hear the tearing, creaking sound of a wooden door being pulled from its hinges and cast aside. Derek, no doubt.

As he fell to the floor of the passage way, he could hear that evil hag of a witch cackling and ranting. She had his son- She was threatening his son-

She was dead. Dead, dead, dead.

** _Present:_ **

A single shot echoed out.

The witch fell.

"Genim!"

"John!"

"Stiles!"

"Mum!

"Sheriff!"

All rang out simultaneously. Everyone surged forward as one, moving past the witch's body to reach Stiles.

Stiles. One lower leg destroyed, dripping blood still, at least two segments of bone piercing the deathly pale skin. Eyes closed.

Human. Not surrounded by a sickly globe of power.

Breathing.

Alive.

Ah. Naked.

After a frozen pause of shock and relief, Derek was rushing forwards, already scooping up his injured mate, movements gentle regardless of his haste. Internally cringing at the state of his leg, he hurried - albeit with his typical lupine grace, not daring to jostle Stiles in the slightest - back out of the underground room, his betas parting for him like the sea for Moses. And, without a word, they all followed at a slower pace, knowing they could trust him with their pack mum. Subconsciously, the weres surrounded Lydia and the two humans. John had yet to re-holster his gun.

"Anti-climatic," Erica murmured as they left the hut. They were trailing after their alpha, headed in the direction of Deaton's clinic. They'd need it. Well, Stiles would. He was a mess. 

It was an hour later when Stiles woke up, leg set in a cast and still throbbing despite the - he counted quickly, working past his blurry vision - four werewolves currently draining his pain.

"Hey guys," he murmured, words slurring a little. It felt odd being able to t- He was able to talk! He was human again! He gleefully wriggled five toes and ten fingers before realising that someone was talking to him. Multiple someones.

"Huh? What?" There were fond giggles and eye-rolls before Derek spoke,

"Dad killed the witch. Shot her. So you're back to normal now. Well, except for the _shattered _leg." The teen ducked his head - as well as he could whilst lying down - at that,

"Sorry for worrying you. And thanks Dad."

"'S'alright kiddo. Just be more careful. No being turned into a fox again, you hear? Not if its going to be anything like that!"

"Yessir!" came the cheeky reply. The whole pack dissolved into relieved laughter at that. They had their pack mum back. They couldn't ask for anything more.

"Alright, alright, out! Stiles, sleep!" Deaton interrupted. Grumbling but good-natured, all the betas and the sheriff left. The latter had been part-way through a patrol after all. Having now been left alone, Derek lay down next to his mate, wolf rumbling contentedly. With a soft, happy sigh, Stiles slipped into a calm sleep.

He was home.

\------------------------ EPILOGUE -------------------------

"Rhydian! Rhea! Hurry up!"

"Coming Daddy!" 

A few moments later, the six-year-old twins were tumbling down the stairs. Honestly, Stiles swore that the poor staircase was going to break one of these days.

"Right troublepups. Got your swimsuits?"

"Yep!" They'd both long-since picked up Stiles' habit of popping their 'p's.

"Your water bottles and snacks?"

"Yep!"

"Your towels and change of clothes?"

"Yes, can we-"

"-go now Daddy?" It often seemed the only people not offput or startled by their 'twin-speak' were their fathers and older sister.

"Alright then, off you go. Chuck your backpacks in the boot, kay? Me 'n' Kayls will be there in a moment."

With near-identical cries of excitement, the two raced off, leaving the front door wide-open in their haste, sandy brown hair flying, hazel eyes glowing with joy.

Sighing in fond exasperation, Stiles retreated back into the kitchen to help Kayleigh ferry all the food to the car.

"Everything ready princesspup?"

"Yes Dad - And I thought I told you to stop calling me that!" At fourrteen, Kayleigh was growing into her body and confidence - an already curvy figure with long, shiny, near-black waves of hair hair and pale golden-brown eyes almost the same shade as her adoptive-father's.

And she certainly didn't appreciate her childhood nickname.

"Yes, yes, princesspup." Not that it would stop Stiles using the appellation. His oldest daughter just shook her head.

Not even five minutes later, all four were settled in the main family car, twins in the back, their sister and dad in the front. The silver band on Stiles' left hand glinted as he twisted the steering wheel. Derek had gone on ahead several hours earlier, where he had met with Scott, Allison and Lydia to set up at the private Hale beach not even an hour away. Everyone would arrive in about an hour, the other nine kids in tow.

It was an official Pack Day Holiday. A one-day event that the whole pack attended, regardless of situation or circumstances. All the kids, the grandparents who were immediate pack (only Melissa and John but for rare occasions such as some Christmases and Thanksgivings - then it was a free-for-all of relatives and friends) and of course the original core pack.

Anyway, today was a beach day. That meant swimming, sand castles, sun bathing, barbeque, volleyball, ice-cream. 

It was going to be brilliant. It always was.

** Pairings and kids: **

**Stiles / Derek: Kayleigh (14 - adopted); Rhydian and Rhea (6 - adopted twins)**

**Scott/Allison: Dylan (9); Trixie (Beatrix - 7)**

**Lydia / Jackson: Penny (14 - adopted - Penelope)**

**Boyd / Erica: Elsa, Lynny (Evelyn) and Ellie (9); Kyle (6)**

**Isaac / Kira: Kirito (8); Sam (7)**


End file.
